


DELETE ME

by trilliath



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom Stiles, College AU, Erica and Boyd are TAs, LYDIA GIVES DANGEROUS ADVICE, M/M, Mostly Pwp, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Professor!Derek, and they would be awesome and awful, professor/student
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 07:48:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1379671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trilliath/pseuds/trilliath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is trying very hard to finish his final paper for his Advanced Human Sexuality course with Professor Derek Hale, but he has a major problem. He can't stop thinking about banging his professor instead of actually writing his paper about sexual taboos like... students banging their professors. </p><p>Lydia's advice to write down his thoughts is helpful... but dangerous in the hands of sleep-deprived Stiles when he forgets to remember two very important words before turning in his paper: DELETE ME</p>
            </blockquote>





	DELETE ME

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Italiano available: [Delete Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5503958) by [ShallICompareThee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShallICompareThee/pseuds/ShallICompareThee)



> I blame ltleflrt

"I can't do it Lydia. I can't do it," Stiles whines at his perpetual skype companion as he drops his face on his forearms on his desk. "It's practically porn. God, porn would be easier to write."

"Do I need to read you the little engine that could again?" Lydia asks tartly, also not tearing her eyes off of whatever difficult thing she's working on three hours ahead of him on the east coast at MIT.

Astrophysics this quarter. Thus her night-owl status.

His night-owl status is due to the excruciatingly difficult task of writing his paper for Advanced Human Sexuality.

"No," he says petulantly.

She sighs, finally turning from her own work to face her Xbox sensor. "Alright, out with it. What's really holding you up?"

"I chose sexual taboos as my topic," he says.

"Right. Seems like a good choice," she replies.

"The problem is that Professor Hale himself is one giant fucking walking sexual taboo and I can't stop thinking about it."

"Is he old?" she asks mildly.

"No," he says, eyeing her like she's crazy. Because she's crazy. 

She lays a withering look on him that informs him that no, she is not crazy. And she knows he knows the definition of sapiosexual and yes, there are a lot of hot silver fox professors as he should well know and doesn't he remember his English lit professor because she was hella sexy, and -

Yeah she's right like always.

"So just your standard Professor/Student taboo," she says, sounding bored.

"You say that like it isn't a big deal."

"It isn't," she murmurs, eyes already shifting back to her equations board. "You're a consenting adult."

He opens his mouth, then closes it again with a snap. 

"Uh," he manages intelligently.

"Don't knock it till you try it," she adds absently as she walks to the empty space on her equations board and draws out a new integral symbol and splits her previous formula before promptly frowning and erasing the thing again.

"Not helping," Stiles squeaks, because yeah, now he's imagining actually trying Professor Hale on for size and that just…

Lydia makes an exasperated sound. "If it's bothering you so much, just write down your fantasy and get it out of your head. Not only will you now have actual porn, it will leave your mind clear to actually talk about the topic. Any time you get distracted just redirect and add a sentence and then move on. Just delete it when you're done."

He chews that over, then says, "Huh. That might work."

"Of course it will. Now get back to work. I have to go. Telescope time's coming up soon. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Don't outshine the stars," he shouts at her, earning a laugh before the screen goes blank.

He heaves a big sigh through his lips, turning his attention back to his screen. And because Lydia is never, ever wrong, he cracks his knuckles and starts a new paragraph in the section on power differentials and types the heading:

**DELETE ME**

 

He's feeling pretty confident about it when he turns it in the next morning. Okay maybe he almost brushes his teeth with hair gel because he's so sleep deprived, but once he'd gotten over his block in the way Lydia had suggested, everything had come together, all his weeks of readings and research and thinking and he gets the rest of the thing written in fine fashion.

By the next day he's feeling even better, now that he's had some sleep. He knows in his gut the paper was good, and he knows it'll be earning him a decent grade. The rest of the week is fun, just going to lectures and studying like normal now that his biggest term paper is off his chest and he can just forget about it. He knows he'll be nervous on the following Friday when they're supposed to get their papers back, but that's to be expected.

What he doesn't expect is when next Friday rolls around the TAs are the only ones present. Boyd hands back papers to the class with his usual discreet efficiency while Erica fumbles with the outdated video equipment to try and get the DVD to play the right part of the movie the class is supposed to watch.

He waits patiently, used to being towards the end with a last name starting with S, even though it's rare for anyone to alphabetize at this level. Though if anyone would it would be Boyd. But still, his paper doesn't come. Not even when Boyd hands back the very last paper in his hands.

Stiles sits through about another five minutes of the video before his nerves and curiosity get the better of him and he ducks down the aisle to the side table at the front of the room where Boyd and Erica are lounging and reading or whatever.

Boyd looks up at him in question as he approaches.

"Uh, I didn't get my paper back?" Stiles says quietly. Boyd's expression starts to sour, which, Stiles totally gets because there are totally assholes who like to try and pretend papers were lost and blame that shit on TAs but he lifts his hands in supplication. "I swear I turned it in. I mean-"

Erica makes a noise and waves her hand as she says, "Oh I forgot. Hang on."

She leans over to dig into her backpack, giving him a truly impressive display of cleavage that he very respectfully admires the hell out of as she tugs out a stack of her papers. But he's too nervous to admire even _her_ décolletage for long. Instead he watches as she rifles through the sheets a moment, then pulls out a piece of paper with a sticky-note on it that has Erica's name and their class number on it. She tears the sticky off and crumples it, then hands him the paper.

"Good luck," she says with a shrug and a smile that says she doesn't know what it means either.

But the sheet just says:

STILES STILINSKI  
Paper grade: On Hold.

SEE ME IN MY OFFICE  
Friday 6PM or email to reschedule.

-Hale

 

Professor Hale's handwriting is neat and the succinct message is written in dark, bold strokes, as usual. The terse order is not particularly surprising from the no-nonsense professor, but it also isn't very helpful. He doesn't stay for the rest of the video. He can't keep still long enough to take notes and his jiggling leg is annoying his classmates, like, three rows down. So he ditches out. He can probably guess on the extra credit question on the final that the video would have given him and it won't really matter anyway.

That freaking paper is a huge part of his grade for the quarter, and he doesn't want anything less than an A in any of the classes relevant to his major progression, which this is. He definitely can't get less than a C or it won't count towards his degree and he's already maxed for the credits he can take per quarter. He has to stay on track. He can't afford all the insane tuition and fees that would accompany summer classes or an additional quarter.

He walks around campus for what feels like forever even though only a few hours pass. And then he goes to the campus gym to work off some energy and take a shower so he can at least not reek of anxiety by the time he goes to meet with Professor Hale.

By the time 6PM rolls around the campus is getting pretty quiet. Anyone who doesn't have to be there has pretty much gone home to get their weekend started. He's only been to Professor Hale's office hours twice. The first time to argue a point on a short essay, which had ended up an hour-long discussion between them and had him going home with a stack of additional readings. The second time had been to turn in an essay early because he was going to have to miss a day to go home for his Dad's birthday. They'd ended up talking about the content he was going to miss and beyond until he was almost late for his next class. After that he hadn't let himself go because it was just about impossible not to get distracted by how hot Professor Hale was when he got into a topic or get inappropriately aroused in the one-on-one environment. 

When he gets there Professor Hale's office door is closed, but he can see light peeking out from under the door. He takes a deep breath and finally makes himself knock on the door. It comes off harder than he'd meant to and he's shaking out his hand and hissing in self-sympathy when the door opens.

Great.

Professor Hale looks as fucking gorgeous as ever, his dark hair a little messy after a long day but still neat like his trim beard, his button up's sleeves rolled to the elbow exposing an obscene expanse of forearm, and his grey trousers cut trim enough to make the mouth water. And don't even get him started on those fucking eyes. Green but only mostly because there's gold and blue and- 

Stiles swallows and tries to smile politely instead of staring or having a nervous breakdown.

"Stiles, come in. Have a seat."

Yeah. Hopefully he can handle that much without falling on his face. Stiles walks to the middle of the office and takes the lone student chair as Professor Hale hesitates a moment, then closes the door behind him. Then he watches in apprehensive silence as Professor Hale walks around to the other side of his desk and picks up a thick paper that has his name on the cover sheet.

He watches as Professor Hale sits and flips through the first few pages, red ink apparent all over the place where it's leaked through the paper. Then he stops and folds the paper open, eyes skimming down to a particular point of interest.

He's quiet for a long moment, and when he glances up at Stiles, his eyes are intent and completely unreadable. Stiles doesn't know what to do but wait, even though he has no idea what's going on. Eventually Professor Hale seems to come to a decision.

"Your paper grade is on hold Mister Stilinski," Professor Hale says, looking down at the paper in his hands. His nostrils flare as he tries to keep his mouth pressed in its customary firm line…

But it wavers. The corner of his mouth turns up in barely stifled amusement as he rises from behind his desk and comes around to stand in front of where Stiles is sitting, leaning back so that he's just barely sitting against his desk, putting them within arm's reach of each other.

"You've got potential, but your paper is completely unacceptable. However," he reads from the paper, "if you complete an _oral_ exam to my _satisfaction_ , I _might_ let you pass the class."

Oh god. Oh shit fuck damn. Send him straight to hell in a fucking cherry-picker.

"Professor Hale-"

"Call me Derek," Professor Hale says with a huff of laughter he can't quite contain as he admonishes, "And you’re getting ahead in your script, Stiles."

"Oh my god," Stiles says, planting his face in his hands. "Oh my god."

Professor Hale makes a disappointed sound. 

"Even further ahead in your script. I haven't even dramatically unbuckled my belt yet," Professor Hale says archly, tossing the paper aside on his desk. "And don't skip the part where you argue passionately with me over how good your paper was and how biased I'm being. I liked that bit."

When Stiles sneaks a peek between his fingers he sees the words **DELETE ME** sitting clearly undeleted on the page.

"Anyway, you're definitely not supposed to be calling out to deities until I've got you bent over my desk," Professor Hale continues, voice going lower and dirtier as he leans closer and Stiles can feel the heat of his breath on his fingertips. 

And oh god he's going to get a boner now that he's heard that. This can't be happening. It really just. It can't.

"Well," Professor Hale says with a sigh. "If you want to rewrite the script, it's probably only fair that I throw in a line of my own and tell you how often I jerk off thinking about that mouth of yours. Spoiler alert, it's a lot."

What?

Stiles lifts his head slowly, looking up at Professor Hale's face, completely flummoxed and not entirely sure he hasn't passed out somewhere and is having some absurd dream. Because there's blatant desire written across Professor Hale's features. 

Stiles swallows and opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out when Professor Hale's eyes track down to his mouth, so he closes it again. 

Part of him is convinced that this is all some horrible joke. So he glances down at Professor Hale's lap, because it's been carefully put right there on display in front of him and there are some things that are hard to fake. Of course, his heart just about stops when he sees the clear outline of an erection running down along his professor's trouser leg.

"Seriously?" he asks, eyes snapping back up to Professor Hale's face.

"Seriously," Professor Hale says. 

"Oh my god," Stiles breathes, earning himself an arched eyebrow in agreement.

"So, Stiles," Professor Hale says quietly after a moment, unfolding his arms and sitting upright again, letting them drop to his side to portion some of his weight onto the heels of his hands against the lip of the desk. "Now that the cat's out of the bag for both of us, what do you think? Want to go for a practical application of a sexual taboo between two consenting adults and fuck your professor in his office? It's up to you."

No. Yeah. He's pretty sure that…

Stiles stares at him a long moment, till he sees the first clear flicker of doubt in Professor Hale's eyes and Stiles clears his throat quickly before his moment passes him by.

"Yes. Hell yes," he says, then tentatively adds, "Derek."

Derek's eyes darken and a dirty smile spreads over his face as he sits back a little against the desk. 

"What do you…" Stiles begins, tentatively lifting his hands to settle on his professor's long, firm thighs.

"I'm flexible," Derek says, dragging his fingers through his beard with a little smirk that says he knows exactly what that word does to the situation in Stiles's pants. "But you wrote a pretty good scene, so we could always start there."

 _Start_. Holy shit.

And actually having that scene already written makes it about a million times easier for him to run his hands in closer to Derek's groin, to drag his fingers down the line of his erection through the thin fabric, pleased at the sound of him drawing in a sharp breath through his nose.

"Well I _am_ pretty good at orals," Stiles says before he can stop himself, halfway back on script.

Derek snorts and then arches an eyebrow as he reaches for his belt. When he pauses for confirmation, Stiles nods sharply and Derek licks his lips absently as he looks down at his waist, snapping the silver buckle open and sliding the smooth black leather through with a slick snap of leather. "Think you're up to the test then?"

And jesus fuck he really had read the thing if he's quoting it from memory. Stiles slides his hands higher on Derek's thighs, making quick work of his button and zipper before pulling his trousers open, just like he would have done in his script. But the warm feel of Derek's skin under his hands hadn't been in his scene, nor had the way his trousers slide to the ground on their own once they were past his hips. Or how fucking gorgeous Derek's cock is, uncut and dark with arousal. 

But Stiles does know what his next line is. He looks up through his eyelashes and says, "I guess we'll see when you give me my grade at the end," and wraps his mouth around the head of Derek's cock.

He watches as Derek lets out a slow, tight breath as he watches Stiles glide his lips over the end of his dick. It's insane looking up at those eyes that he's been obsessing over for months, dilated and focused on him so intently. 

Stiles hasn't sucked off anyone who wasn't cut before, though he knows plenty about it, especially after Derek's class, so he takes a moment to drag his tongue along the line of Derek's foreskin, tasting the tart, bitter edge of his precome. Derek's fingers are making quick work of the buttons of his shirt so that he can part it and look down his body without the fabric in the way as Stiles lifts his head back and presses his thumb against the foreskin, sliding it back and watching it move.

But Stiles is not a novice at this and he doesn't want to come off like one. He opens his mouth wider, laving saliva further down Derek's shaft as he flattens his tongue and glides down. Once he's got a slick coat down it doesn't take long for him to start sliding his mouth over nearly the entirety of Derek's length, sucking intermittently and teasing with his tongue.

Derek's fingers are flexing convulsively on the edge of his desk and Stiles hums his approval. He savors the taste of him. He fucking loves giving head, tasting those unique sexual flavors that nothing else compares to. And it's more than that, just being able to give such unique pleasure with his mouth and still have his hands free to touch. He glides his hands up Derek's thighs and up over his hips to drag against the lines of his abdomen and tangle in his body-hair.

One of Derek's hands snaps off his desk and lands on Stiles's hair as he moans, though he doesn't push Stiles deeper. Which… yeah. His scene might have involved Professor Hale taking his head in both hands and fucking his face, not massaging his scalp gently, but he is so not complaining.

Derek tightens the fingers in his hair when he pulls back and says, "Enough. Now I don't know about you, but I've spent a significant portion of the last two weeks imagining bending you over my desk.

"Just two weeks?" Stiles interjects, half teasing and half hopeful.

Derek's eyes narrow, but he rolls his eyes skyward on a huff and admits, "Longer. Point is, do you-"

"Yeah. Yep. So down," Stiles says, sitting back on his haunches and reaching for his backpack. A dissenting sound stops him.

"I've got it," Derek says, kicking his fallen trousers aside and turning and leaning over his desk to slide open one of the drawers. Of course, this just leaves Stiles with a great view of his ass as he digs around for his supplies. Not that he's complaining. At all.

When Derek turns around, however, his brows furrow at finding Stiles still kneeling on the floor. But a knowing and slightly smug expression slips onto his face when Stiles's eyes snap up from their previous fixation.

"Oh shut up," Stiles mutters as he hops to his feet, reaching his hand back inside the neck of his hoodie and hauling it over his head along with his shirt in one smooth motion.

And Derek does shut up. He tracks interested eyes down Stiles's body which, yeah, he's pretty cool with the way he looks. He's not even scrawny by any stretch of the imagination anymore now that he's filled out into his young-adult body. Lithe maybe, but not scrawny. He starts in on his jeans, but Derek stops him, reaching out a hand to tug him forward by his beltloops. 

With firm hands on Stiles's hips, Derek rotates their positions and guides him over to his desk, pressing himself tightly to Stiles's back as he lets his hands roam over Stiles's body. Stiles curls his fingers down against the desk surface, feeling just enough off-balance to be unsteady as Derek's fingers brush against his quickly-hardening nipples. His skin is so warm against Stiles's back in contrast to the controlled cool of the building's climate and Stiles takes a shaky breath as those hands glide down through the trail of hair disappearing into his jeans. Derek's mouth nudges in behind Stiles's ear, tongue teasing at the delicate skin just enough to have him shivering before moving lower down his neck to nip gently at his skin as his hands tug free the button of Stiles's jeans. 

"Can I mark you?" Derek breathes against his ear.

Stiles swallows as Derek's hand slides down into his boxers, but manages a, "Go for it," before that hand closes around his cock. Then Derek's lips are pressing tight to his neck and he's sucking a mark into his skin as his fingers stroke along Stiles's length.

"Oh fuck," Stiles whispers, tipping his head back on Derek's shoulder and savoring where his back touches the thick, soft hair on Derek's chest. And oh god yes Derek's going to leave him hickeys. Plural.

But it isn't long before they grow impatient with just that and Derek's pulling Stiles's jeans down his thighs and reaching for the lube sitting on his desk. Derek's dick slots in between Stiles's thighs, the head of it nudging against his balls as Derek pops the cap of the lube open with his thumb and pours some onto his fingers.

Stiles doesn't hesitate to spread his thighs as much as his jeans will allow as Derek's fingers slide up the cleft of his ass, gliding the slick substance over his hole smoothly. Derek angles his fingers to press into Stiles's pucker a little, making a pleased sound when Stiles relaxes against him and there's a little ease about the give for his first finger.

"You like it hard?" Derek asks, voice rough with desire as his fingers smear lube deeper into Stiles's body.

"Oh fuck yes," Stiles replies, his own voice already sounding fucked-out and desperate.

Derek hums low in his throat, fingers slipping away to make quick work of the remaining lube and the application of Derek's choice of condom, mouth hot on the back of Stiles's neck as he goes about final preparations. Then Derek's hand is pressing between his shoulder-blades, bending him forcefully over the surface. His elbow hits a stack of papers and sends them sliding off the desk in a flurry that he would laugh at if he weren't so breathless with excitement.

Derek's other hand is spreading Stiles, helping aim his dick and then he's pressing in and Stiles is pressing back and fuck yes he's clutching at random papers as his ass is spread open on Derek's cock, panting through the burn and the flood of sensation as his dick twitches in response.

"Fuck. Fuck yes," Stiles gasps as Derek presses home, bottoming out with a hard thrust.

And then Derek's hand is gripping his shoulder and he's trying to balance on his toes and Derek's thrusting into him with hard, deep strokes that make him want to just never stop moaning. Those powerful thighs aren't just for show. Derek drives into him hard enough that Stiles knows he's going to be sore for days.

And love every second of it.

The whole thing has him electrified. The office desk, the nerves he's been struggling with all day. The months of fantasies over his professor. The surreal fact that his actual fucking professor is fucking him over his desk like there's no tomorrow.

And no, it's not entirely comfortable. His hipbone is jamming against the desk with each thrust and his calves are starting to feel the strain of the angle, and his dick is painfully hard, aching desperately for some direct stimulation. But that doesn't matter. What matters is the way Derek's breath is hot against his back, the way the office is filled with the sounds of skin on skin and the occasional clatter as Stiles knocks something else off the desk in search of leverage to push back with. What matters is how fucking amazing it feels when he tightens down around the penetration, dragging every scrap of sensation he can out of the slick motion of Derek's cock inside him.

Derek groans, fingers of his other hand digging tight into Stiles's hip, giving him even more leverage to hit home with. But he shifts after a few hard thrusts, shifting their hips back a little and moving the hand on Stiles's shoulder down along his spine as Derek bends closer over his sprawled form.

His thrusts are shorter now as his body curves over Stiles's, his mouth rough over Stiles's skin. But it all makes sense when Derek's hand slips down Stiles's hip and wraps around his cock, slick with transferred lube. It only takes a few passes of his hand before Stiles is writhing under him, hand reaching back over his shoulder to sink into Derek's hair as Derek's teeth latch onto his neck.

"Oh fuck," Stiles gasps as Derek's hand jerks him in quick little motions that are in counterpoint to the thrusts into him from behind. It drags him right up to orgasm and over before he can even get his bearings. His legs are shaking as Derek strokes him right through it and he eventually just gives up holding it together, making a pathetic sound as his orgasm sweeps through him in a conquering storm and leaves him for dead in its wake and then he's coming in thick spurts against the front of his professor's desk.

"Oh my god," Stiles breathes, going boneless against the surface.

"Oh _now_ you've got your line," Derek says in a fucked-out voice as he keeps up his steady thrusts.

Stiles barks an exhausted laugh, fumbling a hand up enough to flip Derek off as he manages to say, "You know what? Shut up and fuck me."

Derek snorts, but he shifts his weight and obliges, getting into deeper, harder strokes again. After just a moment to catch his breath, Stiles starts to give back, tightening down around Derek and murmuring dirty encouragement as Derek chases his own finish.

When he chokes out a groan and comes, face pressed between Stiles's shoulder-blades, Derek's fingers bite hard enough into Stiles's hips that he knows he'll have bruises. Fuck yes.

Derek leans his arms on either side of Stiles's shoulders and breathes through the comedown from his orgasm, chest heaving. 

Eventually he pulls back carefully. He stops to pick up the box of tissues they'd knocked aside and set it at Stiles's elbow before moving away to dispose of the condom. Stiles straightens a little more shakily, snagging a few tissues to clean up the worst of the mess before tugging his shorts and jeans back up into place.

He takes a few more tissues to the lines of his come staining the front of Derek's desk and winces at the faint mark left behind on the wood, hoping that it'll dry without a trace. He tosses the tissues and retrieves his discarded clothing from where it had landed on one of Derek's bookcases.

Derek comes over and retrieves his own pants, pulling them on and then sitting against his desk with a sigh and a pleased look on his face. His eyes skim over Stiles's person before settling on his face, then his eyebrows go up in question.

"You still good?"

Stiles worms his way through his shirt and hoodie before answering. It's still pretty fucking crazy, and he's probably going to freak out about it at least once later, but yeah. He's good he thinks, so he flashes a grin and says, "Yeah. You?"

Derek makes a pleased hum and smiles slowly at him. "Very."

"So… did you still want to argue? Because it really is a good paper," Stiles find himself saying, dawdling as he reaches down to pick up his backpack. And yeah… he's not gonna lie, he wouldn't be opposed to sticking around. Now, or later.

A laugh splits Derek's features. "It really is. But unfortunately my opinion doesn't matter because I won't be giving you a grade for this paper." 

Stiles snaps his head up. "But-"

"That wouldn't be fair to the other students, would it?" Derek says firmly.

"No," Stiles admits, even as his heart plummets. Of course not, it hadn't been since he'd put that inappropriate section into his paper and even less so since then. "And no final paper's an auto-fail," he murmurs, curling his fingers into the fabric of his backpack as he tries to keep his breathing steady. Okay. He can handle this. It's not exactly the end of the world. Maybe he can petition to take an additional course for a quarter? It almost never happens but-

"Hey, hey, Stiles. Relax," Derek says, pushing to his feet and reaching for his shoulders for a brief squeeze. "Just turn in a copy without the porn and Erica can grade it. No conflict of interest." He pauses for a moment, then furrows his brows and says, "Actually Erica might give you bonus points for the porn."

"And also never let me live it down," Stiles counters with a snort. But relief is washing through him at the assurance.

Derek arches an eyebrow, tucking his hands back in his pockets. "Point."

And then there's nothing else to say. Stiles gazes at him for a moment, letting himself drink in the faint flush over perfect cheekbones and those sex-blown pupils and sweat-damp brow, the bare chest through the shirt that's still hanging open. Then he makes himself stop gawking and turn towards the door.

"So, thanks. Guess I'll…" he swallows back a laugh. "Guess I'll see you in class."

"Do me a favor and don't sign up for any of my classes next quarter," Derek says dryly. 

Stiles hesitates, blinking at him as he tries to understand. But Derek's already turning back to his desk and grabbing a card from his holder. He pops a pen open and scribbles a number down on the back of the card and then carries it back over to where Stiles is standing by the door. 

He looks down at his hand at the card and then up at Stiles and extends it to him, clearing his throat before saying, "And if you want, after finals, give me a call."

Stiles looks at the card, gnawing on his lip as he hesitates, fingers in the air between them as he asks, "for?"

Not that he isn't going to accept pretty much anything Derek has to offer him. He just… he doesn't want to operate under any false pretenses.

"I'd like to take you out to dinner. Or coffee. Something," Derek offers, running sheepish fingers through his beard. His eyes flick up to meet Stiles's, almost shy as he repeats, "If you want."

He most definitely wants.

Stiles grins down at the card and snags it from Derek's fingers, looking at the number and then tucking it into his pocket. "I will," he says, then lets himself out of Professor Hale's office before he can make an even bigger fool of himself.

 

And if he spends half of the final exam blatantly running the end of his pencil along his lip and the other half making bedroom eyes at his professor, well… who could blame him?


End file.
